


choices

by stardustgirl



Series: Rebels Oneshots [10]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: (but it's also an au of the imperial au), Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angst, I'll probably add onto this, Imperial AU, Mando’a, So much angst, also this is an AU of an AU, we'll have to see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 11:31:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16218134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustgirl/pseuds/stardustgirl
Summary: She watches in silent horror, her face impassive throughout the congratulations of her genius, and she waits to throw up until she’s back in the privacy of the ‘fresher in her own room.|~~~|Sabine makes a weapon, and a choice.{AU of the Collapse(s) Imperial AU}





	choices

“ _ Aruetti. _ ”

She didn’t miss the slur muttered by a passing officer, but she ignored it.

Sabine forced herself to continue reading over the specs of whatever new weapon the junior development team at the Academy had come up with.  Of course the cadets weren’t  _ aware _ of the true nature of their studies.  Not yet, at least.

It was hard to focus on specs when the Mandalorian blood in her screamed at her to get up and  _ fight back,  _ not just verbally but physically, too.

It’s getting easier to push her instincts away now.

Making an abrupt decision, she pushed away from the holotable and headed for the exit.  She felt each pair of eyes on her acutely and resisted the urge to swallow.

“Miss Wren.”

She allowed herself to swallow before turning slowly to face the officer who had called her.  “Yes?”

“I’d like to speak with you outside.”  The officer in question was a tall, gaunt-faced man with slowly thinning hair.  She couldn’t specifically remember his name, though she thought it was something short.  As far as she knew, he didn’t speak Mando’a; he was one of the officers the Empire had sent to help control the Mandalorian populace.

Mand’alor knew they needed the help.

She followed the officer out, keeping a straight face as best as she could.  Once a safe distance from the doorway the officer turned.

“There have been some questions about your loyalty, Miss Wren.”  He paused, allowing her a moment to react. Externally, she didn’t.  “As I’m sure you know, your family—“

“I am not my family, sir.”  It was a statement that barely passed through her lips.

It was false.  Everything in her that was Mandalorian told her it was false.

But she knew her actions since her Academy days, and even then, had made it true.

“Was I  _ finished, _ Miss Wren?” he asked sternly.

She shook her head, her reply a muted “no.”

The office huffed and continued.  “As I’m sure you know, your family has acted out against the Empire and the Saxons multiple times.  There are those among us who wonder if your behavior will be the same.”

“I am  _ not _ my family, sir, as my very involvement with this team will prove,” she said quickly in a low tone, trying her best not to growl.  “The very creation of the Duchess goes against my family’s wishes, and yet here I am.”

“You have yet to test the weapon,” he pointed out.

“I have nothing  _ against _ testing it.”  As soon as she shot her answer back she regretted it.  Her eyes widened slightly at the man’s lips curled into the beginning of a cruel smirk.

“Then we shall have a test of your weapon.  Tomorrow, at 0900. You are dismissed.”

 

At the first test, she forces herself to watch as the criminals—no,  _ true _ Mandalorians, a small voice reminds her—are executed.

Through her own weapon, through her own torture, though she isn’t the one who throws the lever to turn it on, she isn’t the one who presses the button that sends arcs of electricity toward the accused.

She watches in silent horror, her face impassive throughout the congratulations of her genius (non-Mandalorian officers only, the rest are in stunned horror though they clap politely, forcing smiles onto their grief-stricken faces as they shoot her covert glares and she  _ knows, _ she  _ knows _ this is a coward’s weapon, and she knows that they know it, too, and that they have all already branded her as a traitor but now they have marked her as a coward, too, and the worst words in Mando’a are those meaning coward and traitor), and she waits to throw up until she’s back in the privacy of the ‘fresher in her own room.

The nameless officer orders a second test, not two standard months later.  She barely manages to lock her door before there’s blaster bolts hitting it, a furious voice shouting obscenities and calling her traitor and coward over and over and over again until it’s silenced.

That voice is present at the next execution, a week later, staring up at her with vengeful hate.

It’s at the seventh test, which at this point has become synonymous with execution, that she sees the boy.

He’s about the age Tristan would be, she realizes with a pang.  And as the weapon starts it’s death shriek, the boy shouts, “ _ Par Mandayaim! _ ”

He’s gone.

She receives a promotion to chief of her development team after the eighth trial, and for the first time, she is not afraid of the glares it garners—they all know by now that if they touch her, they will be the ones it is tested on next.

After the ninth test she gets a transmission.  She takes it in her room.

The man introduces himself as Director Orson Krennic, overseer of some weapons development project codenamed “Stardust.”  All the most brilliant minds in the Empire are working on it, he says. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. She’ll have three rotations to decide; a shuttle will land then and if she chooses not to get on it, then so be it.  Stardust will bring certain peace to a galaxy on the tipping point of war (doesn’t he know that a true Mandalorian would never  _ want _ peace?).  The transmission ends, and she is left in a contemplative silence.

Three rotations later she is on a shuttle, headed to Lothal.


End file.
